Riane and Frieka were among the two hundred agents stationed at the Outpost, investigating temporal crimes and rescuing tourists from accidents or attack.
It was a job Riane was well suited for. Like her father before her, she was a Vardonese warrior, stronger and faster than any normal human. A nanobot computer network wound through her brain, a match to the sensors implanted throughout her body. The comp gave her access to riaat, a biochemically induced berserker state that could turn her into a one-woman army. Between that and her training as a Temporal Enforcement agent, there wasn’t much Riane Arvid couldn’t handle.
Riane dug out another morsel of meat and let Frieka lip it from her fingers. They separated a moment to pass a bearded, long-haired man dressed in filthy buckskins. His face was gaunt, his eyes shadowed from weariness and lack of sleep. Probably an anthropologist or historian, back from a long trip experiencing life as an eighteenth-century fur trapper.
Frieka sneezed explosively. “Hey, buddy, you’re home—get a bath already! You smell like a beaver.”
The man looked a little startled. Probably wasn’t used to cybernetically enhanced animals anymore. “Uh—sorry.”
“Frieka!” Riane swatted the wolf gently on the top of the head. “Excuse him,” she told the scholar. “I think his etiquette program needs an upgrade.”
The cyborg wolf stuck out his long pink tongue at her, a twenty-first-century gesture he’d picked up from Riane’s mother.
Genetically engineered for intelligence as well as size and strength, Frieka had a computer implant and sensors of his own. He’d been her father’s partner in the Vardonese military for years. Later he’d served the family as Riane’s bodyguard, tutor, and nursemaid when she was growing up.
Now, though he was a very old wolf indeed, Frieka had become her partner Enforcer. Thanks to regeneration technology and genetic engineering, Riane hoped to listen to him nag, bitch, and make bad jokes for many more years.
Abruptly the voice of Riane’s computer implant filled her mind. “Incoming message from Chief Enforcer Alerio Dyami.”
Good. A mission. “Put him through.”
“Report to Mission Staging,” Dyami said in his deep, velvet voice. “Chief Investigator Corydon has a lead on Ivar Terje’s location. You two are on the takedown team.”
“Hot damn!” Frieka bounced a little on his paws, tongue lolling in a grin. “ ’Bout time! I want to sink my fangs in that dickhole’s butt.”
“Sounds like a plan to me.” Riane gave her partner a vicious smile. The last time she’d seen Ivar, he’d damn near blown her to hell during his escape from the Outpost’s brig. “I’ll hold him down while you dine.”
Mission Staging was three floors up from the concourse. A large, brightly lit room, it lacked the usual wide window looking out over the mountains. The heavy shielding designed to control the energies of a mass Jump didn’t really allow for a great view.
A long conference table in dark Temporal Enforcement blue took up one end of the room. Graceful silver chairs upholstered in the same blue surrounded it.
At the opposite end of Mission Staging, ten regeneration tubes stood on end in case something went wrong on a Jump. And it very well might, Riane thought grimly, given that they were going after Ivar. He was one nasty piece of work.
Which was probably why the rest of the takedown team looked so tense. There were ten on the team, counting Riane and Frieka, all in full armor: helmets, gloves, T-suits in the blue and silver of Temporal Enforcement, weapons belts hung with shard pistols, knives, and an array of other equipment. They were all Chief Dyami’s best agents. Only Master Enforcer Galar Arvid was missing, since he was off on two weeks’ leave with his beautiful new wife.
Chief Investigator Alex Corydon stood eyeing the milling Enforcers with the icy, rigid suspicion of a man who thought himself surrounded by a nest of traitors. He was firmly convinced somebody at the Outpost had been working with Ivar.
Riane curled her lip at him. He’d spent hours last week grilling her about her loyalties. The idea that anybody would think she’d stoop to working for Xerans thoroughly pissed her off. Riane had told him just how close she’d come to being raped and murdered by one of the bastards when she was barely twelve, but Corydon had only sniffed in skepticism.
Frieka had wanted to bite a butt chunk out of the human for that sniff. She’d damn near let him.
“All right, folks, attention.” Chief Alerio Dyami’s voice rang across the room. Instantly, the agents turned expectant gazes on him. Dyami was a big man—but then, like Riane’s father, he was a Viking Class Warlord. He was computer enhanced and genetically engineered for battle, and there wasn’t much he couldn’t do. Combat decorations gleamed in his long, dark hair, and the gold and green tattoo of House Dyami spilled down one half of his handsome face. He turned dark eyes on Corydon and lifted a black brow. “Senior Investigator?”
The human drew himself to his full height and puffed out his narrow chest. “We have reason to believe that Ivar Terje has taken refuge in nineteenth-century New York.” Corydon’s teeth shone very white against the inky blue-black sheen of his skin as his eyes narrowed into slits of metallic gold. Hair the color of flame was bound in a severe braid that emphasized the height of his perfect cheekbones. The dramatic coloring made him look intensely alien, though in reality, he was nothing more than human. That purebred DNA was yet another reason he hated every genetically engineered Enforcer on the team. “There’s a great deal of temporal activity in a Brooklyn Heights neighborhood which suggests a lot of people Jumping in and out of the area. I sent a surveillance ’bot which confirmed he’s there.”
He turned to the table and gestured. The Outpost computer responded, displaying a trid image obviously taken by one of the tiny aerial couriers.
Ivar climbed the stairs of a brownstone, his big body more than a little out of place in the careful tailoring of a Victorian gentleman. His red hair shone like warm copper in the light of a gas street lamp, but his eyes were as cold and gray as an arctic sea as he turned to scan the street.
Riane frowned. The ’bot must have been heavily shielded. The cyborg’s sensors would have detected it otherwise.
“When did your ’bot shoot this?” Dyami asked.
“Ten-thirty-two p.m., May 12, 1872. We will arrive ten minutes later.” Corydon gestured, and the image pulled out, displaying the view as the ’bot circled the building. “I want to post teams here, here, and here,” he said, pointing at spots around the structure. “When I give the signal, we’ll hit him. I want two teams entering through the front, and the other two through the servants’ entry here.”
Chief Dyami rocked back on his heels, frowning deeply. “What kind of backup does he have? You did say there were people Jumping in and out of the area.”
Corydon gestured again, and data from the ’bot’s sensors flashed beside the image. “There is no one else in the building during the strike period other than Ivar himself.”
The Chief continued to question him, to Corydon’s obvious irritation. Finally Dyami reached for his helmet and slid it on. “Let’s move. We’ve got a spy to catch.”
“We’ll Jump two at a time,” Corydon said. “I don’t want to warn Terje with a big energy spike.”
Riane saw the point—ten people Jumping at once generated a hell of a lot of energy that could be detected centuries away. On the other hand, it was equally likely Ivar would detect them as they Jumped in two at a time.
“Be ready to pursue if he initiates a Jump,” Dyami said. “I don’t want to lose the bastard in the time stream.”
Ten helmeted heads nodded understanding as hands dropped to holstered shard pistols.
Corydon and Alerio Jumped first. Energy bloomed blue-white from the center of their suits, flaring to a blinding, eye-searing intensity that made every hair lift on Riane’s body. If not for the suits’ energy-damping field the backwash would have given everyone in the room a very unpleasant shock.
Then both men w
ere simply gone, with a cracking sonic boom.
Two by two, the other Enforcers made their Jumps. Finally it was Riane and Frieka’s turn. She started the procedure with the skill of long practice. “Jump coordinates?”
The wolf rattled them off. Riane checked his figures on the glowing heads-up display that had appeared on the inside of his visor. The coordinates were correct—she’d triple-checked them earlier. But you didn’t play fast and loose with a time Jump.
“Initialize T-suit,” Riane told her computer implant.
“T-suit initialized.”
“Jump.”
The moment the energy surge began, Riane knew it was all going to hell. It was way too much warp for a Jump of only three hundred years. Her suit blazed against her skin, excess energy bleeding into heat. Biting back a scream, she mentally roared, “Abort! Abort Jump!”
“Aborting . . .” Agony blinded her.
The comp said, “Suit not responding.”
Shit piss fuck.
Light flooded Riane’s vision, stabbing her corneas like molten ice picks. Every muscle in her body locked and jolted as if she’d grabbed a bare high-voltage line. She felt herself being ripped apart, and knew she was going to be one of the ones who went on a Jump and never came back.
The last thing she heard was Frieka’s terrified howl. “Riane! Your suit . . .”
Relief pierced her fear. At least whatever it is isn’t getting Frieka . . .
Riane materialized in the middle of a jungle, emerald green light spilling around her. She sighed. Well, she’d materialized, though the Mother Goddess only knew . . .
Oh, fuck!
Another warp was building, the heat blazing through her suit. “Abort!” she snapped, without much hope.
“Suit not responding.”
“No sh—”
And she was gone again.
The Jumps came hard and fast after that, giving her no time to register anything beyond flashes of impressions: a man in a kimono, staring at her in shock; Jump; a burning castle in the distance; Jump; a herd of horses plunging away at full gallop; Jump; a dingy medieval street . . .
The T-suit’s protection began to break down as it lost power with all those repeated warps through space and time. The burn of her body became a continuous, shrieking pain, her stomach rioting so violently every time she materialized that it was all she could do not to heave in her helmet.
This is sabotage, she realized. Has to be. Somebody got to my suit. But how? Who? And why me?
• 3 •
Frieka materialized outside the Brooklyn Heights brownstone, his heart pounding with panic. “Riane!” he hissed, his comp sending out a simultaneous com call. “Riane, where are you?”
Desperately, he began to run around the building, his paws thumping on the cobblestones as he scanned for his partner. But there was no sign of her—or, for that matter, Ivar Terje.
The last time he’d felt such fear had been when that damned Xeran had abducted her when she was twelve. Snatched her right off her gravboard as Frieka watched helplessly from below. He’d run after them, howling in desperation, until the Xeran’s airbike had zoomed out of sight. I’ve lost her again, Baran! he thought in black despair. And you’re not around to help.
“What’s going on, Frieka?” Chief Enforcer Alerio Dyami’s cool voice demanded over his comp’s communication frequency.
The big Warlord seemed to appear out of thin air as he dropped his sensor shielding. Frieka sighed in relief. The Chief would know what to do. “Riane’s disappeared, sir,” he said, trotting to the man’s side. “Something went wrong with her Jump. There was too much power in the temporal warp. Her T-suit either malfunctioned or was sabotaged.”
“Given the circumstances, my money’s on sabotage. Especially since Terje’s nowhere to be found.” The Chief turned toward Corydon, who hurried toward them, a frown on his blue-black face. “Where the hell is our spy, Corydon?”
The Senior Investigator glowered. “Someone must have warned him. It’s what I’ve been telling you all along—you’ve got another mole in your organization. Probably Dona Astryr.” His lip curled. “His lover.”
“Dona might have been Ivar’s lover once, but she’s not anymore. And my investigation cleared her.” With a growl, Dyami lifted his head and sent out a com call. “All right, people, Ivar slipped our trap, and we’re missing an Enforcer we’re bloody well going to find. Let’s get the hell out of here before some temporal natives show up to investigate. Start Jumping for home.” The Chief looked down at Frieka, who was trying not to dance in his anxiety. “Let’s go.”
With a sigh of relief, Frieka sent a command to his T-collar. A moment later, the temporal warp ripped him apart and carried him away.
Just before he vanished, he thought, I lost her, Baran. But I’m going to get her back.
Riane’s T-suit had—just barely—enough juice to put her back together one last time, but not enough to shield her from the worst of the Jump’s effects.
She crashed to her knees, blind, deaf, and sicker than she’d ever been in all her life. She barely managed to jerk up her visor in time to avoid vomiting inside her helmet.
When she was finally done, Riane wiped her mouth, shuddering in revulsion. At least she was still alive. “Suit status?”
“Power levels at point-zero-zero-one percent,” her comp reported.
Deader than a black dwarf. Which is no surprise. T-suits aren’t rated for that many Jumps. Burned out the power pack. Which is probably exactly what that fucker Ivar intended.
Ivar had to be at the bottom of this somewhere. It just stood to reason.
“Any sign of Frieka?”
“Negative.”
“Good.” Riane sighed in relief. At least Ivar hadn’t managed to trap the wolf, too. Though if she knew her partner, he was probably going insane with worry.
She wasn’t all that happy herself.
Forcing herself to reel to her feet, Riane scanned her surroundings. She still couldn’t see worth a damn. Which would make this the perfect time for an ambush . . .
“Your sight is affected by your repeated Jumps, but it is also nightfall here,” her comp informed her.
“Fantastic,” Riane muttered. “Can you get me anything on when—and where—I am?”
The comp’s pause was so short, an ordinary human probably wouldn’t have sensed the time lapse at all. “I detect electromagnetic transmissions suggesting early twenty-first-century North American communications. I can decode and analyze for more information.”
“Do it. I need to know exactly where I am if I’m going to get back home.” Riane’s sight was beginning to clear at last, and she could make out more of the area.
She stood on a paved stretch of blacktop she recognized from past temporal Jumps as an outdoor basketball court. Nearby were various colorful structures her comp identified as playground equipment: a swing set, slide, and other constructions designed to be clambered over by small children. There was no one to be seen, however, which suggested it was fairly late.
“The time and date are zero-zero-forty-five, May 23, 2009,” the comp announced. “I have contacted a global positioning satellite and convinced it I am a GPS unit. You are located in the southeastern United States, in Milltown, South Carolina, population five thousand. Temporal coordinates: 0302-NAC/OE-0051-0045-05-23-2009.”
“Great. Time for a hearty yell for help.” Riane reached into one of the pouches on her weapons belt. Her fingers encountered the smooth, round globe of a courier ’bot and pulled it out as she mentally composed a message to the Outpost. Com messages couldn’t travel through time; something had to physically carry them.
Unfortunately, the little ’bot wasn’t up to the job. Normally the tiny device would feel warm in her hand, with a faint vibration of power. Now it was so cold and still, it might as well have been a rock. “What the Seven Hells is wrong with it?”
Her comp confirmed her suspicions. “According to sensors, courier power levels
are at zero.”
The suit had protected her, but the weapon’s belt pouches had failed to save her equipment.
Riane swore ripely and started going through the contents of the pouches. As she’d feared, anything that used any kind of power source had been fried. Even her shard pistol was dead.
At least she still had her knives. She checked the combat blades, still tucked neatly in their sheaths. Unfortunately, that was the only good news. She was stranded.
Her sole hope was to find a friendly time traveler with a functioning courier ’bot who could signal for a Jump tube pickup. “Can you identify another time traveler in the vicinity?”
The comp hesitated a little too long. “That data is unavailable. I did not download updated temporal travel records for this time because we were not scheduled to stop here.”
“Yeah,” she said in disgust, “that’s what I was afraid of.”
“Having trouble finding a ride home?” a too familiar male voice asked.
Riane whirled to find Ivar Terje standing three meters away in a combat crouch, a predatory gleam in the cold gray eyes revealed by his open visor. He must have been sensor-shielded to sneak up on her like that.
The big cyborg was dressed in a Xeran T-suit, its tiny scales a deep and gleaming black. Riane bared her teeth at him. “I see you’re showing your true colors, you traitorous dickhole.”
His lips pulled into a slow, vicious grin. “Now, is that any way to talk to an old friend?”
“You were never anybody’s friend.” Coiling into her own battle crouch, she told her computer, “Give me riaat.” She was going to need every erg of power she could get if she intended to win a fight with the cyborg.
Riane and Ivar began to circle, watchful, waiting for an opening. Damn, she missed Frieka. She and the wolf fought like a single unit, fangs and fists and feet, overwhelming opponents with sheer vicious teamwork. Ivar wouldn’t have a prayer if Frieka was with her.
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